


Who Says I Need Wings to Fly?

by booksandmoviesbreakme



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, F/M, Hurt Peter Parker, Iron Dad, M/M, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post Infinity War, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, but so will the angst, everyone else helps peter, fight me, learning to live and love again, the fluff will be overwhelming, they all come back, they become best friends I swear, they help each other, they're all one big happy family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-05-25 00:40:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14965349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booksandmoviesbreakme/pseuds/booksandmoviesbreakme
Summary: Death isn't nearly as permanent of a concept as it appears.After blood and sweat and an abundant amount of time traveling, Tony Stark and the other living Avenegers manage to bring back everyone that disappeared when Thanos snapped his fingers. Steve got Bucky back, Wanda and Vision were reunited, and Rocket saw all the Guardians again.But most importantly, Tony watched, back once again on Titan, as Peter reformed in his arms. Bit by bit, ash by ash.They're getting a second chance.They all are.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy the beginning!! It's probably starting off a little slow but once all the avengers are reunited this story will be filled with fluff and love and the avengers being bros and helping each other out :)

Peter's never gotten panic attacks before. 

Sure, he's panicked. I mean, if you were a top notch student who handed in grade A work, a boy who tried to keep good relations with his Aunt, and became a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man on the side, wouldn't you?

Peter's a stressed out, jittery teenager with social awkwardness. He picks apart the little things, and he over thinks. Stuff like that. 

But this is different. This is new. And it sucks. 

This is so different because it's not about the little things. Aunt May always told him not to sweat the small stuff, but Peter somehow always did. 

Doesn't everybody?

But when you've literally died and come back to life, I guess you get a little perspective. 

Voices drift around him. Peter feels like he's been living in a compacted bowl of jelly as he just floats around and picks up minimal scraps of the outside world. He keeps his eyes closed (unsure if he even has eyes anymore) because maybe he doesn't want to deal with making those scraps into a full picture just yet. 

His breathing picks up- the walls of that jelly bowl are closing in, and suddenly he can't feel his bed anymore (is it a bed? Wasn't he just floating around is space?) All he can remember is what had happened when he came back from the nothingness. 

And it really was nothingness. It wasn't a usual death. No heaven or hell- no reuniting with Uncle Ben, or finding all the other Avengers who had probably disintegrated into ash. No- he had simply seized to exist. When you had never been anything before, I guess there's nowhere to go after. 

He didn't feel himself getting put back together, thank god (even though he felt himself fall apart. He felt everything about that). All he knows is that when his eyes flew open, he saw Mr. Stark leaning over him, hand on his shoulder, breathing heavily as his eyes brimmed with tears of relief. Peter noticed how he didn't bother wiping them away, but they didn't escape the ducts, either. 

Peter's throat was dry and raspy as he choked out, "What- Where- Mr. Stark..."

Mr. Stark only shushed him quietly, pressing Peter back to the ground before he could struggle into a sitting position. 

"Shh, it's okay," he had said, smoothing back the boy's hair. "It's okay. You're back. You're home."

Except he wasn't home. He was alive, and back in this universe and galaxy, but he wasn't in his little apartment eating May's bad food. He wasn't even at the compound. He had still been on that god forsaken planet- titan- as if anything about this place could be home for him. The ground beneath him still felt like dirt and ash, and his tongue tasted like fire. It hadn't taken long for him to pass out again. 

The next time Peter woke up, they were on the ship. From the small amount that he could see, it looked like a different ship than he had arrived to Titan on- smaller, and probably the one belonging to the Guardians. Some part of the knots I his stomach untangled at the relief of no longer suffocating in the giant donut- some kinds of consistency aren't helpful.

Peter almost had the mental capacity to remember how cool it is that he's actually in space. He's actually an Avenger. He's actually alive. 

But Mr. Stark wasn't around. No one was around. 

Peter crashed again. 

And now, Peter doesn't wake up as peacefully (if you could call it peaceful) as he had the other two times. He hadn't dreamed- or at least, there were no vivid images or scenes that he could remember. No- it's more of a lingering feeling that's left behind, and it starts suffocating him.

He claws at surrounding blankets resting in his little cot, trying to keep himself grounded. He's not there, he's not there, he's not there. He doesn't even know where there is- whether is be Titan or the floating pit of blackness that had become his home during the time of his death- but he just knows that he doesn't want to go, and he didn't have to, because he is here.

Except that doesn't seem real. Even the cloth slipping through his fingers feels manufactured- imaginary. A cruel dream before reality pulls him back into whatever hole it's preparing. 

His lungs hurt. His head hurts. The air around him hurts. 

He can't breathe he can't breathe he can't breathe

But he wonders vaguely if he had been breathing when he was dead- he had felt his lungs disintegrate within himself, so he figured not. And if he could survive that, this sure as hell wouldn't stop him. 

Peter Parker survives his first panic attack alone.  
***  
Peter doesn't fall back asleep after that- the thought of enduring another panic attack, no matter how much it had drained him, was enough to keep his eyes wide open. 

Mr. Stark finds him after maybe an hour or so- although, it could have been a week for all he knows. Telling time in space isn't exactly the easiest thing, even with the window that he's found next to his bed. 

He's also noticed that he has his own room. It's relatively roomy, and there's a light that he could turn on if he wished. And it's not like he wants to be in the dark- he got plenty of that recently. It's just that the light would probably hurt his eyes, and the glow that drifts in from passing stars is quite enough for Peter at the moment.

A soft knock sounds on the door, and Mr. Stark doesn't waste any time waiting for Peter to tell him to come in- it wasn't an inquiry for permission, it was simply a warning. 

Mr. Stark slips through a small gap he's made between the door and wall before he shuts it behind him with a soft click. Peter sits up a little more in his bed, but doesn't fret anymore. Normally, he'd be freaking out about his appearance. He's be smoothing his hair, getting out from under the covers, setting his back straight. But the mere thought of doing all that takes a whole lot more energy than he has at the moment, so he just leans against the wall and gazed at Mr. Stark through glassy eyes. 

"Hey, kid." Mr. Stark's voice is soft and gentle- more so than Peter had ever heard before. "How'd you sleep."

Peter shrugs. He didn't exactly want to tell Mr. Stark about the shaking and the restricted breathing and the fear, but he didn't want to lie, either. 

But Mr. Stark doesn't press anymore, and just gently lowers himself into the cot. "I know, kid. I know."

But does he? Peter's fairly sure that Mr. Stark hadn't been one of the ones that had died. Mr. Stark had watched Peter die. 

Oh, God. The realization hits Peter in the face all at once, because in the hustle and bustle of it all, he hadn't really had a chance to remember what exactly had gone down before his body and organs and skin had disintegrated into nothing. 

"I don't wanna go," he had sobbed into Mr. Stark's arms as he fell, losing his strength and footing and will all at once. "I don't wanna go."

He hadn't. 

Oh God. That waiting- that knowing- for who was going to happen had probably been the worst of all. Lying on the ground beneath Mr. Stark, knowing that he would dissolve any moment... There's no words to summarize the terror of that feeling. Even then nothingness he had become couldn't possibly live up to it. 

Peter's throat bobs at the memory, but he swallows the feeling down- bats away the rising panic. The last thing he wants to do is break down in front of Mr. Stark. He already sees Peter as a little kid. Peter doesn't need to make that even worse. 

"How are you doing?" Mr. Stark tried again. Concern lingers in his eyes and all his facial expressions. "You hungry? We're getting some dinner ready out there."

How he knows whether or not it's breakfast, lunch, dinner, or a freaking midnight snack, Peter has no idea. 

And even though Peter just wants to curl up and cry and scream and punch, he simply nods and rises. 

Or tries to, at least. He nearly forgets that he hasn't stood up on his legs in who knows how long. The effort is too much, and his knees buckle beneath him as he plummets for the ground, down down down-

Mr. Stark lunges forward and catches him, wrapping his arms around Perter to keep him from crumpling to the ground. Peter instinctively grabs at Mr. Stark's neck to keeps himself up as he regains his footing. 

As if Peter needed any more reasons to be embarrassed. 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark," Peter rambles, his voice still weak from days or weeks or months without using it. "I didn't-"

Mr. Stark merely chuckles as he steadies Peter and helps him through the door. "You're alright, kid. Quill fell over the first time he tried to walk, too." He laughs again. "I didn't catch him, though."

But Peter didn't find it funny. All he found was a whole lot of deja vu. 

Nevertheless, despite the thought of food making him want to vomit, he lets Mr. Stark lead him into the main room of the spaceship, where he sees Starlord manning the wheel and steering them home. 

And everyone's there. And for the first time, it really hits him square in the chest. They're alive. All of them. They came back. And they may not be home yet, but they're getting there. 

That knot in Peter's stomach loosens- it's only slightly, but some of the pressure is relieved nonetheless. 

Mr. Stark passes him some sort of silver pack that must hold space food.

"Eat up, kid," he says sternly. "You need it."

Peter doesn't argue, but eats slowly, trying to choke down the bland nutrients that manage to taste like dust and dirt. 

Star lord must put the ship on autopilot, because he comes over to join the circle and claps Peter on the back. "There he is. How's the food? You're probably starving."

Peter manages to lie through his teeth. It's not as hard to a near stranger as it had been to Mr. Stark. Although, I guess Starlord and the other guardians aren't strangers- they had all died together. That's a bonding experience, right?

Peter notices Dr. Strange sitting alone in the corner, not eating, but merely observing the others reactions. Peter knows that Strange had disintegrated- he had watched it happen. 

He wonders how they all feel about it, and how they can act so normal. How Mantis just hums quietly to herself as she sways back and forth, and Drax continues to shove his face with the gross space goop that they call food. 

How is star lord smiling when both himself and the love of his life has died, and knowing that his girlfriend didn't come back?

Peter doesn't socialize for very long. In no time, his eyes are drooping, and even though he doesn't want it, sleep pulls him in.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's scared of Tony's rejection, and Tony's scared of Peter. Also, they each don't like talking about their struggles, so chaos begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter that takes place on the ship. After this, they will return to earth, and a party (aka recovering from massive trauma) at the compound will take place for a whiiiile. :)

Tony debates whether or not he should try to talk to Peter again. He's knocked on his door at least a dozen times in the past two days, asking if Peter needs anything, but every single time Peter just rejects him, announcing that he was about to take a nap. 

Which, for the record, is almost impossible to believe considering the nearly black circles that are visible under his eyes during the rare moments that he comes out to eat. They're so dark, it almost looks like he had taken back paint and smeared it across the bottom eyelids. Or, alternatively, that he simply got punched in the eye. Twice. 

The boy doesn't look good. He's so pale, he reminds tony of a ghost, and skin is stretched so tightly across his bones that he fears it might tear. And clothes that had only been a little big on him a week ago, Peter now swims in, reduced to nothing but skin and bones. 

Tony sighs loudly, drumming his fingers along his thigh as he tries to get up for the third time in a row. Just one more try, right?

"Just give him time," Mantis says softly for probably the fifth time from where she sits a few feet away. Tony realizes that he had actually stood up this time, and sinks grumpily back into his seat. "He's a young boy, and he's struggling with the trauma. He will come to you eventually."

Yeah, well. Tony knows Peter far better than anyone else here, and that doesn't really seem likely. 

But Tony genuinely just wants to look at him. Nobody really knows the full reasons of why Tony was so ready to tear apart the universe in order to reverse Thanos's finger snap. He had just had one, innocent, too young boy running through his head the entire time. A boy that wasn't nearly ready to die. 

I don't wanna go. I don't wanna go. 

And yet he had went. And Tony could do nothing to stop it. All he could do was sit in the dirt, and watch as a boy turned to ash before his eyes. Peter was there one minute, and gone the next. That easy. 

And because of that, he had done everything to get him back. He had been ready to sacrifice everything just to give Peter the life he deserved. 

Tony snarls, annoyed, because the boy won't even give him the time of day. 

"You must know that it's not because he doesn't want to be with you," Mantis adds, and Tony can't be sure whether or not he had accidentally voiced his thoughts aloud, or if she had read his mind or something. He doesn't know which would be worse. "He can't bear it right now. He will come to you when he's ready."

Tony deflates a little at her words, if slightly confused as to why he would listen to someone who had literally once said "kick names, take ass."

But then again, Tony wouldn't know where to start even if he could get Peter to talk to him. So Tony just settles for sitting outside of that closed door, trying to stare through the wood and into a boy who went through way too much, and all because of him.   
***  
The rest of the trip passes without much external event for Peter- nobody really has much to say. Peter generally tries to stay in his room, rejecting company most of the time Mr. Stark offers it. 

It's not that he doesn't want to see him. He does. Peter probably wants to see Mr. Stark more than most people in this entire universe (he can say universe now, because he's actually been there). 

But what does he do when the effects of his return wear off? What happens when he has to go back to Aunt May, and go to school, and pretend like his life wasn't literally, in every sense of the word, torn to bits?

What happens when Mr. Stark stops wanting him?

When he had been dead, it hadn't stopped his ability to think. Perhaps it's would have been kinder if it had, but Peter felt one hundred percent conscious the entire time, despite the fact that he was about as unconscious as one could get. 

Anyway, as he had drifted away from life and into nothing, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about everything. About Aunt May, and Ned, and MJ, and Mr. Start, and anyone else that he would miss, and who he thought would miss him. And the pain of thinking he'd never see them again had been more painful than dying or turning to ash could ever be. 

And as Peter floated, and wished, and dreamed, he wondered if death would have been easier if he hadn't had anyone I love. If he hadn't had anyone to miss. 

He closes his eyes, trying his best to breathe deeply and will away the paralyzingly panic that is slowly but surely settling in. Peter's gotten better at controlling whatever this new element is over the past couple of weeks (or however freaking long it's actually been) but maybe that's not actually helping, because right now, it just feels like he placed a bandaid over a dam, and that dam is going to overflow, it's about to burst-

The room he's in is dark. Science suggests that there can't be any shadows without some sort of light source, but this bottomless out of despairs is made entirely out of those shadows. Layers upon layers of monsters woken from strings or black and darkness. And those blankets manage to wrap around Peter- his lungs, his mouth, his throat. 

A knock sounds on his door, probably for the best because a lamp winks on to Peter's right and suddenly he can see again, but who cares if he can see if he still can't breathe-

"Peter?" Mr. Starks gentle voice calls through the wood. "We-"

Peter gasps roughly, unable to take in any of the information Mr. Stark is trying to tell him. "Mr. Stark, now's really not the best time-"

For the first time since Mr. Stark had first entered into this room, he barges in without invitation. Peter guesses that his nonchalant voice hadn't been as convincing as he had hoped. 

Mr. Stark's voice is frantic as he almost falls through the doorway, stumbling into the room and towards the bed. "Peter, what's going on? Are you alright?"

And thinking that he's better off not lying to Tony Stark, Peter just shakes his head, because he's not. He's really, really not. 

Realization dawns across Mr. Stark's face, because he's probably one of the many Avengers that can recognize a panic attack. After he figured out what's going on, he forces his face into a mask of calm as he approaches Peter much slower, and much gentler. 

"Hey," Mr. Stark says softly, and Peter knows it's Mr. Stark even though he's blurry and the voice sounds like it's coming from far away. He'd know Mr. Stark anywhere. "I'm going to come closer, okay? Is that alright?"

Peter manages to nod, although that just might be his entire body continuing to shake. 

"Okay," Mr. Stark breathes, and Peter feels the bed shift as Mr. Stark lowers himself onto the mattress. "Okay. Help me out here, bud. Can I touch you? Or is that going to hurt more?"

Peter doesn't answer as his panic melts slightly into full fledged, body-racking sobs. He just allows himself to fall into the other man, letting his entire body sag and fall as Mr. Stark catches him and pulls him into a fierce hug that should be suffocating, but isn't. Everything else feels suffocating, but this doesn't. 

"It feels like I'm dying again," Peter confesses through staggered sobs, unable to grasp onto Mr. Stark or reality or himself. 

Again. The words echoes deep in the back of whoever conscious mind he has left. Whenever he dies next, he wouldn't just be dying. He would be dying again. He had actually died. It happened. It was real. And one day, he is going to die again. 

This does not help his panic attack. 

But Mr. Stark is there, and he's rubbing slow, soothing circles around Peter's back, and Peter's remembering just how much air is in this room now that his stupid lungs are going their job again. 

"I'm sorry," is the first thing Peter says once he's calm enough to make a conscious thought. 

And goddamn it all, Mr. Stark actually laughs at the kid's apology, because there are only so many people alive that would immediately apologize for a panic attack. 

But Peter's not offended by the sound- he knows Mr. Stark isn't laughing at him because of his panic attack, because the man has told Peter to stop apologizing so much on so many occasions that it's become almost a running joke between them. If anything, that hint normalcy is music to his ears. And even though it doesn't quite succeed, it almost makes him want to laugh, too.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And they've returned to earth! Tony gets to reunite with his pals, and Peter gets to reunite with a real, fluffy bed. We're off to a good start ;)

Turns out, Mr. Stark had been visiting to inform Peter that they were about ten minutes out from entering Earth's atmosphere, and he wanted to know if Peter wanted to come out into the common area to watch the return with them. And despite Peter's violent urge to sleep and be alone, he thinks that maybe he does want to watch his. 

He's going home. They both are. 

So Peter follows Mr. Stark and settles beside him at the table. And despite everything that's going on within him- what's happened to him- he watches their decent. Their trip from the darkness of space and down into earth's atmosphere. Peter watches as his surroundings morph from black to blue to hints of green and gold. Sunlight streams in through the small portholes, just a few rays managing to nearly blind him. 

But he sees trees, and nature, and a couple sitting on a bench as they whisk over Central Park. He hopes they're smiling. He hopes they're laughing. 

He's home. He's actually home. 

The space ship touches down upon Earth- so delicately compared to how the aliens had first made their appearance. No shaking, no trembling, no craters in the ground. It's almost reassuring to Peter. If something so rugged and destructive can be so gentle, perhaps anything is possible.

Mr. Stark explains to Peter that he won't be going home to Aunt May for a little while- he, along with everyone else, believes that the Avengers and Guardians should reconvene at the compound for a few weeks to recover. After all, they didn't just die. They fought, and sacrificed, and bled, and died some more. Mr. Stark thought it would be best for the Avengers to be together, with others to relate to directly. 

Peter doesn't mind, actually, surprising even himself. The thought of seeing Aunt May is oddly terrifying. How Peter knows she'll burst into tears, and practically break his ribs hugging him. She's always had a habit of pinching his cheek, checking for fevers, looking for ticks, that kind of thing. It only got worse when she found out he was spider man. Every night, she would wait up for him to come home from patrolling, asking for every detail, ready to bandage up even the slightest of scrape. It made Peter even more grateful for his enhanced healing- if the injury was small enough, he'd just wait it out until it was mostly gone before returning home. He refused to bug his loving Aun with anything but the big stuff. 

No, Peter doesn't really have a desire to go home right now. All that pampering will just make this whole thing real. 

Peter forgot just how bright the sun really is, right up until the moment he steps off that ship. The ship had landed out on the landing deck of the Avengers compound, and he walks close to Mr. Stark and Dr. Strange as he's led inside. Everything is so dark when you're dead, the entire world looks like it's on fire in comparison. Peter resists the urge to rub the brightness away from his eyes- he doesn't want anyone to think he's been crying.

Before he's shut inside again, he takes a moment to observe his familiar, yet foreign and far away surroundings. Endless amounts of windows sparkle with that dazzling sun, and the people milling about in the streets below look like tiny ants burrowing their way into the dirt. He doesn't know who they are, but he feels a strange bond with the world anyway. The feeling of merely being in the presence of other human beings is far stronger than he had originally anticipated. Even the tall buildings reach up toward him, forming a bridge, holding their hands out to welcome him home. 

"I had the others prepare a room for you while we were gone," Mr. Stark informs Peter as they walk down the hallway. Dr. Strange had peeled off a few moments before per Mr. Stark’s instruction, shutting himself in his own room. Peter’s pretty sure he's heard perhaps two sentences from the man since they were both resurrected. He doesn't blame him. 

Peter doesn't know why he's so surprised by Mr. Stark’s comment- what, had he expected to be thrown onto the couch? Or the floor of the hallway? Especially when the compound is so freaking huge?

Still, an odd sort of happiness swells inside his chest as he realizes that they're welcoming him here. Despite his visits to the lab, he'd never spent the night at the compound when he wasn't injured (well, maybe Peter’s mind might be a little bit injured, and there's that little fact that he was dead for a while, but he decides not to count that). And whether it lasts or not, he belongs here now.

Something’s gotta give, right?

 

And yet, he can't bring himself to smile at the man walking beside him. Because as soon as he does- as soon as he looks at Mr. Stark for what he is (the freaking world) said world will be taken from him. It's happened before. 

But he's alive. And he's not panicking. And that's more than he's gotten lately. 

But suddenly, an idea strikes him, sending all other worried and anything reassuring flying from his brain, and he stops misstep and whirls toward Mr. Stark, effectively cutting him off and nearly making him trip. 

"Kid!" Mr. Stark exclaims, grasping Peter's shoulder to keep himself steady. "Jesus!"

Peter ignores this. He's plenty used to shocking Mr. Stark into next week. "Nobody but Dr. Strange and the Guardians knows I'm Spider-Man."

That's all he says- he doesn't voice the concerns or fears that have begun penetrating his thoughts. The anxiety for abandonment, and wondering of what might happen next. He doesn't have to, because Mr. Stark nods in resigned agreement, leaning against the wall and folding his arms over his chest. 

"That's true," he merely agrees. 

Peter chews on his lip, unsure of what to do with his limbs and body, so he just crosses his arms like Mr. Stark. "Um... what're we gonna do about that little tidbit?"

"Well," Mr. Stark sighs. "I could always tell you that you're one of my interns, but it'd be pretty hard to explain why you were in Titan with me during the war. Best case scenario, I can say it's personal, and it'll be your choice when to tell them in time."

But Peter doesn't need time, he decided suddenly. And that foggy mind of his is suddenly so clear, because Mr. Stark just offered him time. He has time- and he's tired of wasting it. "No. I want them to know- I can do more if they do. And you're right, it's pretty inevitable at this point anyway."

Mr. Stark flicks his eyebrows up in surprise. "Really, kid? That easy?"

Peter gulps, not allowing his uncertainly to hold him back. He almost takes it back, but he knows that he'll have to be honest eventually. "Yes. But I want you to tell them."

If it's possible, Mr. Stark manages to look even more shocked. "Why?"

Peter shakes his head. "They listen to you. If a random kid comes out to make an important announcement, it's weird and uncalled for. But if you're just explaining why I'm there during one of the meetings..."

Mr. Stark sighs, running a hand down his face. "Fine, fine. But you have to be there. I'm sure they'll have questions."

"Great," Peter mumbles. 

But Mr. Stark had technically christened him in as an Avenger in the flying donut. He'd left earth as Peter Parker, and and returned as Spider-Man, one of the iconic Avengers. While Peter’s never let the pressure of being a superhero get to him, the thought of being on the same level as Mr. Stark, or Black Widow, or Thor, for crying out loud, was a little difficult to handle at the moment. 

Could he really ever be one of them?

"For now, however," Mr. Stark continues briskly, unaware of Peter’s nervous sweating as he enters a pin into the next door on the left. "You should rest up. In a real, compound-level bed this time."

Even Peter admits that a normal night's sleep sounds appealing. 

Mr. Stark ruffles Peter's hair, and that look of relief that was there when Peter first woke up is somehow still there, hidden deep in the lines of his face and depth of his eyes. He smiles softly. "We'll deal with everything tomorrow. Or the next day. Whenever you're ready. But for now, just get some shut eye."

Peter's throat bobs as he nods. He almost hugs Mr. Stark, but then remembers that time where they “weren't at that place yet.” Who knows where they stood now? Peter doesn't even understand his footing within himself. 

Peter isn't lucky enough to get a full nights sleep. But at least his nightmares are comfortable this time.   
***  
Tony softly shuts Peter’s door behind him, ordering F. R. I. D. A. Y. to give him updates every thirty minutes, and whenever he wakes up. And while Tony thinks that maybe he should get some sleep as well, he instead heads toward the common area, in search of the rest of the team that he hadn't seen in several weeks. 

He sees them before they see him. As he walks down the hallway, he notes the presence of Rhodey, Steve, Clint, Natasha, Bruce, and Barnes. They lounge about the room munching on snacks the rest on the coffee table, all looking exhausted. Despite knowing that their battle ended when Tony had left in search for Peter (they were only concerned with bringing them back) Tony understood that they probably didn't sleep all that great without being absolutely sure everyone was home and safe. And with Tony in space, refusing to give them any information...

“Guess who?” Tony says upon entrance, spreading his arms wide and stealing the cracker Clint holds up to his mouth. Tony pops it into his own. 

The entire room seems to get a second wind all at once, and Natasha jerks up from where she had been half asleep against Bruce. A wide grin spreads across her face as she jumps up and slides toward Tony, pulling him into a rare but well deserved embrace. 

“Nat,” Tony breathes, sinking into her arms and accepting for the first time that they are all alive. They had actually achieved the impossible. Tony never imagined that this room would ever be so full again. 

“Good to see you, Tony,” Cap says, rising and clapping him in the shoulder. Tony couldn't help but smile back at the man, happy to be back on good terms. And even though it's hard, he manages a respectful nod toward Barnes, who remains rigid where he still sits on the couch. Despite his face of pure shock, he returns the gesture. Good enough. 

“Mission successful, I can assume?” Rhodey smiles, taking his turn with a hug after Nat. 

“You bet,” Tony confirms, near giddy just from saying it out loud. 

Bruce holds up a finger, and it doesn't sneak past Tony that his arm snakes around Natasha’s waste as she sits back down again. He leans forward onto his knees. “Yeah, about that mission. When do we get to know exactly what it was?”

“Preferably now,” Cling puts in, remaining reclined deep into his chair. And then adds fondly, “And get me another cracker, asshole.”

“Not now,” Tony denies, doing as asked and handing Clint the entire damn platter. Clint roars with laughter and eats three at a time. “I can't explain fully until you meet him.”

Steve flicks his eyebrows up, hands on hips. “Him?”

“TONY STARK!”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, because he just knew someone had been missing (and what a grand time to be interrupted).

Tony turns toward the hallway just in time to be hit so hard by Thor that his knees nearly buckle beneath him. Not a bad hit- he had just been trying to give the same gesture Cap had. But Cap is Cap, and Thor...

“He has returned!” Thor announces merrily, leaving his large hand resting on Tony’s aching shoulder. “How you have been missed around here, old friend.”

Tony holds his hand up. “Yeah, okay, I missed you too, but not everyone here are Gods. Just keep that in mind.”

Thor doesn't take offense- he seems to take the comment as a compliment, and puffs his chest out with a grin. 

Natasha jerks her head at the couch. “Take a seat, Thor. We were just about to get some answers.”

Tony lifts a finger. “False.”

“Not false,” Natasha bristles, the happiness and relief that she had felt upon first seeing him slowly melting out of her, turning into anger and irritation. And up she comes again, this time marching toward him to jab a finger into his arc reactor. “Quite true, actually. You already left us here, alone, for three weeks, having no idea where you ran off to, without so much as a reason why. Do you have no idea how that felt? To be left here twiddling our thumbs while you might have been off somewhere in space dying? And you couldn't even be bothered to give us a quick explanation before taking off. Don't you think we at least deserve one now?”

“Yes,” Tony says cautiously, not having the energy or the nerve to deal with angry Black Widow. “Yes, you do. And you'll get it. You just have to wait until he wakes up. Then, I promise to tell you everything.”

“Can you at least tell us who this ‘he’ is?” Clint says impatiently. 

Tony takes a deep breathe, rubbing his eyes as he remembers the boy dissolving in his arms, becoming nothing- dying as Spider-Man when he had always been meant to be so much more. 

“Peter Parker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like I completely welcome feedback because this is my first fanfic and this could be moving way too fast or slow and I don't really know so yeah help? And if anyone has any suggestions for scenarios they're like to see, I'd be happy to incorporate it!! I'm totally looking for a lot of fluff!!!


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter wakes up to a new life, and gets to officially meet the Avengers- to both good and bad reactions.

It's only when Peter wakes up that he realizes that he hadn't even bothered to change before he passed out. Slowly, he peels the gross, space riddled clothes from his body in favor for a hot shower- the first one, he realizes, that he's had in months. 

Peter had woken up on a cold sweat, shaking from a nightmare he couldn't remember even if he wanted to. And while he has no idea what state he had been in for the majority of the night, his breathing had been steadily leveling out. If nothing else, no matter how unhealthy it might be, he'd prefer to have panic attacks while he was asleep and just not remember them.

Nevertheless, the physical repercussions still come in full swing, and he feels sore and groggy as he leans against the wall of the shower, letting the scalding water pound the cold from his frigid skin. He sighs contentedly as he leans against the wall, letting the waterfall wash over him. 

Peter spent a lot of the time he was dead thinking about his loved ones- the vast majority of the time was dedicated to them. But honestly? After a while, you start to miss the small pleasures in life. Like sunlight, or flowers, or a scalding hot shower first thing in the morning. It's so hot, he thinks he might melt right into the drain, but this doesn't scare him. Being turned into a liquid would be way better than ash. He's sure Mr. Stark would have a way to turn him solid again, anyway. He'd just have to gather all the goop. 

That's all it had been before, he's sure. He hadn't been able to find all the bits and chunks of Peter to piece back together. 

Not for the first time, Peter wonders what exactly those alive had done to bring the dead back. How long it had taken. How much it had cost. 

Hell, Peter didn't even know if it was still 2018. 

At that thought, he fumbles the shampoo, and it falls to the shower floor with a resounding crash. He cringed, quickly picking it up and setting it back on the shelf as he considers how much time he thought had passed, and he just had no idea. 

He should probably start asking questions soon. He can't go the rest of his life (even though it's still wild that he gets the rest of his life) ignorant. He needs to sort his shit out. 

But now is not that time, Peter decides as he towel dries his hair before wrapping it around his waist. Right now, his brain is already going into overdrive trying to wrap itself around everything. Any more input might just make him explode. 

Upon searching his closet, he finds that someone must have paid Aunt May a visit, because he recognizes ever article of clothing as his own.   
He makes a mental note to find a way to contact her later. 

After putting on a T-shirt and sweats that actually fit him (and oh god, wearing his own familiar clothes is a small pleasure, too) he slides from his room and back into the hallway Mr. Stark had left him in the night before. He's been here a few times, so he begins to make his way toward where he's pretty sure the kitchen it. Seventy percent of the day, he would be able to find someone eating there. The other thirty percent they would be found either training or in some sort of lab, depending on who it is. 

As he walks, Peter gazed out the windows, taking in the flickers of city that are thrown at him. Those pictures of familiarity, of his home planet (it's so freaking weird that he can say that now), makes his chest feel all warm and fuzzy. 

Peter squints, trying to make out the people far beneath him. Sometimes Peter just likes to notice people talking with one another- living with one another. Like when he's in a parking low and sees two strangers run into each other and smile and share some sort of inside joke. They’re strangers to Peter, but not to each other. The concept that people exist outside his own existence is unfathomable, but beautiful all the same.

Sometimes it's nice to be reminded that everyone else is experiencing just as much pain and joy as he is. 

He's so distracted by his thought, that he doesn't see the man rounding the corner, and runs head on into him. 

Peter reels back, jarred by the impact but more surprised than anything. 

“I'm so sorry,” he rambles as he puts a hand to the wall to regain his balance. “I should have been paying attention to where I was going, and I just… uhhh…”

Peter blinks a few times to make sure he's seeing correctly, and the vision still doesn't chance. Yup, that's definitely Bucky Barnes- the one Steve had been protecting a few years back- towering above him. But he isn't wearing any armor, or that crazy mask and eye back as he had been during the airport battle. Right now he almost looks… normal?

He wears a pair of plain jeans, a sweater somehow hanging loosely around his incredibly built frame. His long, dark his is pulled up into a small knot at the back of his head, a few stray strands falling into his eyes. As Peter watches, Bucky blows a few of the up and away. 

Peter stammers, unsure of what to say to someone he had once fought, but then he remembers that Bucky shouldn't know he's spiderman yet. So he just settles for, “I'm, uh, so sorry, Mr. Barnes, sir. I didn't mean to run into you.”

Something is the man’s eyes brighten at the sound of the words “Me. Barnes.” Peter figures it's because he chose not to call him the winter soldier, but rather just by his name. 

“It's alright, kid,” Bucky says, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head as he surveyed the boy. “Are you the famous Peter Parker?”

Peter gapes at him, hands beginning to sweat at the knowledge that the super soldier knows his name. “How do you-”

Bucky lets out a barely visible chuckle, and even this small sight is sort of strange, because the last time Peter had seen the man he was still sort of… he doesn't know. Off kilter? “Don't freak out on me there. Tony told us we had a visitor named Peter Parker, and that you were part of the mission he just went on.”

Peter shifts uncomfortably from one foot to another. “Um, yeah. That's me.”

“Well, in that case,” Bucky says lightly, leading Peter toward the kitchen, “I'm glad you're awake. Tony refused to give us any answers until you were present.”

“Oh, I'm sorry-”

“Lord, stop apologizing, kid,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “You're worse than me.”

Peter stays silent, allowing Bucky to lead him the way- this is probably more reliable than his own memory, anyway.

Voices meet him as they enter the large kitchen, the loudest seeming to belong to the God of Thunder. 

“Ah, sleeping beauty has awoken!”

Bruce raises his eyebrows at the man. “You know what sleeping beauty is?”

Thor nods seriously. “In these past few weeks, I've taken up the task of familiarizing myself with, what's the term… pop culture?”

“Disney isn't exactly pop culture,” Peter says without thinking, “but it's a good start.”

And that's when he realizes that everyone is staring at him. They're just standing there, scattered around the kitchen, considering him like a meal. 

And they're all there, goddamnit. Mr. Stark, Thor, Dr. Banner, Dr. Strange, Black Widow, Hawkeye, Captain America. All of them are there and they're just staring at him. Peter gulps, steadying himself with the counter, wondering if he should say something first, or wait for someone else to speak. 

Apparently they're going with the latter, because Peter finally lets out a breath when Mr. Stark approaches him, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

“How'd you sleep?” he asks, low enough to not be heard by the others, and the genuine concern in his face is more comforting to Peter than it should be. 

“Good,” Peter whispers back. “And in this particular moment, I kind of wish I was still sleeping.”

Tony chuckles, stepping back. “And we haven't even started yet.” He turns to the rest. “Guys? This is Peter, the kid I mentioned last night.”

Black Widow cocks her hip out, resting one of her gloved hands on the bone. “I think we've all figured out that much for ourselves, funnily enough.”

“The sass is unappreciated, Nat,” Mr. Stark informs her.

“Adn your persistent stalling is unappreciated,” Black Widow snaps. “Now tell us the full story, or I swear to God someone’s getting knocked out, and it’s not going to be me.”

Mr. Stark takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself for the great reveal as Peter does the same.

And then he says it, pulling of the band air faster than Peter has time to wrap his head around. “Peter is Spider-Man.”

And once again, the room falls silent, and once again, they're freaking staring at him. 

Peter’s mind is bombarded with a barrage of thoughts and fears. Oh my god, they hate Spider-Man, they think he's ridiculous, they're not going I take me seriously, I shouldn't be here I shouldn't be here I shouldn't be here

His thoughts are caught off by Hawkeye, who merely tilts his head, eyes on Peter, and goes, “Well damn. Kid’s got skill.”

Peter resists the urge to smile at what appears to be a positive response. But he's distracted as he surveys the rest of the team, trying to gage everyone else’s reaction, when his eyes fall on Captain America. 

Peter is the first to notice the rigidity in Mr. Roger’s jaw- how his face is a mask of calm, but his eyes are on fire. How there's pure rage written all over his face. And Peter almost wants to take a step back- to put a wall between himself and that fire- but he holds strong, keeping his feet firmly in the ground. If he's gotta go, this would be the way...

But when the man steps forward, he doesn't come for Peter. In fact, he walks right past him. All the way to Mr. Stark. 

“The kid was in Berlin,” is all the Captain says, voice like ice. 

Mr. Stark merely nods, as if he were expecting this conversation. “That's right.”

“You brought a kid into a war?” Captain America continues, letting some more of that anger show as he looks downright incredulous. “What were you thinking?!”

Peter clears his threat. “If I may interject, I think the literal super powers add on about ten years.”

“He’s a teenager,” Mr. Rogers continues, completely ignoring Peter’s comment. “You know better than anyone how dangerous this line of work is- it's not this boy’s job to risk his life- not yet, at least.l

“What's the difference, really?” Peter fumes, somehow finding the courage to stare down Captain America. Well, he supposes that it can't really be that hard. After all, he did die. Nothing could be harder than that. And the knots in his stomach- the sheer indignance rising within him- if far too strong to push back down. 

“What do you mean?” Mr. Rogers says carefully. 

“I mean,” Peter hisses. “What's the difference between an adult risking their life and a teenager- turning eighteen in four months, by the way- doing the same? What exactly draws the line, besides a few years? Why is it okay for you to die, but not me?”

“I’m trained for this-” Mr. Rogers starts. 

“And I’m a mutant!” Peter exclaims, frustration and helplessness rising in his throat like bile. “I'm literally part spider. I have super strength, enhanced healing- I can walk on freaking walls, for crying out loud. And from what I've heard about your past, you were ready to fight for America even before you could hold your own. If you can risk your life for what’s right, why can't I?”

The room is completely silent as Peter’s rant sinks in, both into them and himself, and his eyes sort of widen in horror because oh my god I just yelled at Captain America if I wasn't dead before I'm definitely dead now. 

At last, it's Natasha who finally speaks, words loud and meaningful in a room where you could hear a pin drop. 

“My my, I like this one.”

Peter’s settling mortification disappears as his jaw drops open, staring at Black Widow like her ears had suddenly sprouted flowers, because, oh my god Black Widow just took my side over Captain America I am going to die. 

“Oh, don't look so surprised,” she grins, throwing an arm around the boy. “Anybody who puts Cap in his place is a friend of mine.”

Peter manages a sheepish smile as murmurs of assent fill the room. Clint nods in approval, and Thor gives him a dopey grin with a thumbs up. 

“Age has never been an indicator of worthiness,” the God announces. “The boy appears plenty worthy to me!”

“And I hear you're pretty smart,” Dr. Banner puts in, surveying Peter as he blushes. “I never mind a new lab assistant from time time time.”

Peter feels Mr. Stark deflate a little bit at the words to his right, and Peter does the same. 

“Okay,” Mr. Stark says wearily, looking around the room. “That was… sort of the main piece of news. and I'm sort of making him an Avenger.” He doesn't mention that he technically already did. “Trust me, he's earned it. Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

While everyone else remains silent, Captain America speaks up again, unsurprisingly, this time looking less angry and more unsure. “I just… I don't want the kid getting hurt, you know? It's our job to protect him, not the other way around. He could die in this line of work.”

“It's not like I haven't died before,” Peter says softly, saying it aloud feeling like an ice pick is being driven clean through his stomach. “I think I can handle it. And honestly, I'm just as likely to die at age thirty four as seventeen. If anything, I'm lighter on my feet at this age.”

But they've stopped listening, far too caught up on the first segment of the sentence. And if Peter thought they had been silent and staring before, he's faced with a whole other level right now.

But he can't stand strong anymore- he can feel himself shrinking back before all of their eyes, getting smaller and smaller- younger and younger. He can only handle this is they let him do it. 

Oh god, he needs to get out of here. 

At last, Peter manages to unstick his feet from the floor that seems to be sucking him in, and stumbles back, turning and hurrying towards his room. 

He just hopes he can find it before the panic finds him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Did you like the team's initial reaction to Peter? I will slowly expand on all of these with individual conversations, because the huge group meetings can sort of result in a big mess. Also, do you guys like the idea of Peter and Bucky becoming close? (I really like the idea of them helping each other). Let me know, and I hope you enjoyed!!! :)


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is left alone to manage his thoughts and fears before Mr. Stark swoops in to help.

The only logical thought Peter can come up with is why is his room so fucking far away. 

Peter can feel his body shut down, like he’s going through some technological soft reset or something. But on a phone, it actually works. You can actually erase all that shit keeping your camera and apps from working. But Peter can't forget. The memories are dull and sort of death and time addled, but it's always going to be there.

He died. He had spent days or months or years floating in an endless expanse of oblivion. Who knew anything could be so dark? Peter remembers being scared of the dark when he was young, and always needing a nightlight in order to fall asleep. But when he became Spider-Man, he got his fear in check, because he was surrounded by darkness and night all the time. We worked in it. He used it to his advantage. It became his friend. 

But Peter thought he knew what darkness was. He thought darkness was when the lights were turned off, and the sun had set, and he could barely make out the building on the other side of the street. But nighttime isn't dark. Night is just a lower level of light- Peter had never experienced the complete absence of any and all light sources. Not until he disintegrated into ash, and was left in a pit blacker than even the darkest of coals. 

And even though he's alive now, it feels like he never left that darkness. A shock runs down Peter’s spine, and he hurries faster. 

The sun is still bright- even though he's been back on earth for a few hours, his eyes still haven't fully adjusted. He wonders if they ever will. When he finally reaches his room, beams stream through the windows and across the white carpet. Normally, it would be a very pretty sight. The light reflecting on the glass shimmers, fragments of a rainbow being thrown across the walls. The furniture is made of elegant polished wood, fit for a King, someone so much more worthy than Peter Parker. 

But right now, the beauty sort of feels like a taunt. Like, hey, everyone else gets to enjoy this view and be happy except you. 

Peter thinks of how Bucky had laughed earlier. He thinks of how he had smiled, even after everything he had been through. How he managed to live with what had happened, and in spite of it. 

Peter shakes his head as he falls to the bed, curling into himself as he lies in his back and stares at the ceiling. It's not that he's not happy to be alive. He is. He's freaking over the moon- anything is better than that darkness. 

But part him can't get over this feeling that maybe he brought some of that darkness back with him. 

Peter lies on the bed for a long time, just staring and staring and staring at a ceiling that he can't see. And he doesn't think he could move even if he wanted to- all of his limbs feel like lead, like their made of whatever material Thor’s got in his hammer, and no one unworthy can lift them. 

Something chose you to be one of the ones that died, a voice whispers into Peter’s mind, making him shiver. Why would they have done that if you didn't deserve it?

It feels like his reality is being ripped apart. Like everything he knows (or rather, thought he knew) was being torn to shreds before his eyes. His existence has been tethered to certain tidbits of knowledge for the past seventeen almost eighteen years. And one piece of that knowledge is that you can only die once. If you dissolve into a pile of ash, there's really no coming back from that. It's just how the world works. 

 

But when that tidbit of knowledge suddenly changes its mind, what the hell does that make him?

Sometimes Peter feels like he's watching his like go by from the outside, like it's one big board game that he's just keeping an eye for a few laughs. And sometimes he things, well, what if I just flip the board? Send everything flying? Send himself flying? Maybe nothing would change- after all, this is a rhetorical situation that obviously doesn't exist. So yeah, maybe nothing would happen. But maybe something would?

But right now, he doesn't have the energy to flip the board. Hell, he can't even bear to move his game piece forward. 

This feeling is different than the knock attacks Peter has been facing lately. Calm is not the right word for it, despite the lack of moving or crying or shuddering. Peter could not feel any less calm, actually. But at this point, Peter just feels overwhelmingly… neutral. Like he's surrounded by panes of glass, and even though he's touching the bed and the blankets and his own skin, he can't actually reach anything. He can't feel anything at all.

He's conscious enough to hear the knock on his door when it comes, but he can't makes his voice work- whether to tell whoever it is to come in or go away, it doesn't matter. His mouth won't open. 

 

This doesn't seem to matter either, because the door creaks open anyway. 

“Peter?” Mr. Stark’s voice rings out softly, sounding like it's battling toward Peter from a thousand miles away. “I'm coming in, alright?”

Alright, Peter tries to tell him. Nothing comes out. 

Next, the bed creaks as Mr. Stark sits beside him, assignable moving very slowly so as not to set Peter off any farther than he already is. Peter thinks Mr. Stark reaches out to touch him- that's what Mr. Stark says he's doing, anyway. But Peter would be none the wiser if he hadn't said anything, because his skin still has that heavy feeling to it, and it doesn't really seem to be taking any sensory input at the moment. 

“Just breathe,” Mr. Stark instructs, in a surprisingly helpful manner because oh yeah he really should be doing that a little better. “Deep breaths. In and out. That's it, kid.”

Peter likes when Mr. Stark calls him kid. He's furious when anyone else does it, but when Mr. Stark does it… Peter doesn't know. It gives off a sense of normalcy. A piece of comfort. If it weren't for Spider-Man, perhaps he wouldn't mind being a kid again. 

“Has the sun set yet?” Peter rasps out, unable to discern dark from light. Aren't they the same at this point?

“Yeah,” Mr. Stark whispers, smoothing Peter’s hair away from his forehead. He can feel it this time. 

"I never leave my room at night unless I'm patrolling," Peter whispers. "Like, my room at home, I mean. I would never go out into the rest of the apartment for anything. I was always afraid that some ghoul was going to jump out and eat me."

 

Mr. Stark manages a chuckle, continuing to rub a comforting hand along his back. "I don't think ghouls have very good digestive systems."

 

And the comment is a weird thing to set him off, but at that moment, Peter just downright loses it. Perhaps because the comment had been funny. It had been snarky, and clever, and generally right up Peter’s alley. Overall, he appreciated the humor greatly. 

But goddamn the universe, because Peter could not make himself laugh. 

Peter feels himself cave in on himself as his body and mind snaps open and released what he's been keeping in for the last few hours- perhaps even the last few weeks. Because he's not panicking right now. There's no shortage of breath, no feeling like he's lost his grip of reality. None of that. 

No. In fact, he feels more grounded than he has since he woke up as a wet, strangled sobs pulls its way from Peter’s throat and into the air around him. Another follows. And another. And another. 

Until Peter’s tears are coming so fast that no towel or bed or superhero could hope to stop them. He doesn't want them to stop them, either. He doesn't want help. He doesn't want a crutch that will eventually be taken away. 

But Mr. Stark swoops in before Peter can stop him, and Peter takes that crutch and holds on tight. And Mr. Stark holds him back, tears in his eyes as he stares up at the ceiling- anywhere but at the broken boy he holds. 

“It's okay,” Mr. Stark says soothingly, in a tone that very few people get to hear in their lifetime. “It's okay. I'm here. We're both here. It okay.”

Peter curls into Mr. Stark’s chest, letting the uncontrollable sobs course through his body because he just cannot hold this is anymore. And maybe Mr. Stark will eventually leave him, just as his parents had, and Uncle Ben had, and in the same way that he had once departed from this world. 

And as much as Peter hopes that he won't- that Mr. Stark will stick around for him- Peter knows better than anyone that everyone gets sick of everything. Peter would be foolish to believe he is an exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh I know so much angst. Next chapter is going to be longer and much more dialogue centric, I just felt that really showing how Peter was feeling, and how Mr. Stark impacted him, was very important to include at this point in the story. Hope you guys still enjoyed, and more to come tomorrow ;)


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team gets everything smoothed out after the complications of Spider-Man's reveal. The Avengers are the Kings and Queens of misunderstandings.

Tony had merely watched as Peter stumbled off towards his room to calm down. He knew better than to follow him- Tony had always preferred to be alone after situations like that. Anyone bugging him had only made it worse. The last thing Leter wants right now is for Tony to see him cry.

So instead of following the kid, Tony had just turned ever so slowly to face Steve, a lethal look on his face.

Steve had the right mind to look slightly scared at the daggers that Tony was throwing at him. “Tony, I-”

“Cap, unless you want to start another Civil War, I suggest you shove your sorry a-”

Steve lifted his hands up in the air. “I just want to make sure you completely know what you're doing.”

Tony set his stare on the other man. Steve's face appeared to be calm- calculating. That's what it always looked like, and Tony constantly found himself wondering which emotions Steve was capable of feeling after all this time, and which ones he wasn't. He didn't seem to have real knack for compassion. “Yeah, well, listen up. Peter was Spider-Man long before I found him- he was swinging around on his webs with barely any protection at all. All I did by bringing him in was give him a better suit, with better features, to protect him on the jobs that, yes, he decided to do on his own.”

Steve looked pensive as Tony took deep breaths, trying to keep himself calm as he internally freaked out over the state of the boy that had run off. And all Tony wanted to do was chase after him, to see if he was okay, but he can imagine how embarrassed Peter would be if he made a big deal. Especially in front of the other Avengers.

No, it would best if Tony pretended like Peter had played it all cool, even though the kid is the complete opposite of cool, even at the best of times.

Tony couldn't help but smile in affection at the truthful thought, but he jerked himself out of his mind at Steve’s voice. Right. Real world.

“So what exactly gave him the super powers?”

Tony sighed. Not exactly an agreement, but a start nonetheless. “Radioactive spider.”

Nat wrinkled her nose. “That can't have been a good experience.”

Bruce shivered to her right for effect. “Seconded.”

Steve ignored this. “So what did he get? Super strength? Enhanced healing and metabolism?”

“He can climb on walls,” Clint put in, looking impressed.

Tony nodded. “He once climbed up the Washington monument.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “Just for fun?”

Tony felt the distinct urge to slap someone (preferably someone with a particular love for Stars and Stripes) but held himself back. He's trying to win this argument- or discussion, if they're trying to keep it civil this time around- right?

“No, not for fun,” Tony responded. “For a mission.” A self assigned mission, but a mission nonetheless. Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man just expanded his territory, that's all.

Even Steve looked impressed at that, and the resy of the team allowed Cap to consider more, as if they were waiting for his verdict.

But Tony was out of patience. “Look. Whether you like it or not, I've made Peter an Avenger, because he deserves it. He's sacrificed and given just as much for the universe, and he has more than earned his place among us. I don't need your approval, Cap. But it would make life around here a whole lot easier if you gave it anyway.”

And that's when Bucky stepped in. Tony never thought he'd be grateful for the super soldier, but as he spoke, Tony felt the urge- that he would never in his life act upon- to give he man a hug.

“Steve,” Bucky said softly, and Tony watched as Steve relaxed immediately. Their relationship had been fairly public and well known for the last couple of weeks, especially when they basically started making out while crying in front of everyone after Bucky came back to life.

Another thing Tony doesn't do around the super soldier- laugh at what he says. And yet here he is, barely choking down his giggle as Bucky continues with, “Get your head out of your ass. You know who’s wrong right now.”

And as if Steve were the one under mind control, he immediately conceded with a nod, saying, “He’s one hundred percent welcome.”

Tony looked pleased. “Good.”

“The kid’s right, you know,” Nat added in after a while, pushing her scrambled eggs around her plate and finally taking a bite. Everyone else duh into their own food, as if her simple movement had been permission of some sort. “About the age gap not mattering. Especially with his fancy mutant stuff. Didn't you once say a building landed on him and can out alive? He's easily as capable as us once we add some training.”

_More so,_ Tony thinks to himself. I _just have a suit. Peter is the suit._    
***  
Steve has barely left the kitchen when Bucky pulls him aside, shoving his against the wall in a darker corner of the hallway.

“If you want to make out,” Steve jokes, unable to make out Bucky’s facial expression, “you could have at least waited until we were behind closed doors.”

Bucky gives him a dubious look before stepping back. “Nah, that's alright. I don't much like kissing assholes.”

Steve’s eyes pop out of his head, chasing his boyfriend down the hall before he can get too far. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I sense some hostility. What's going on?”

Bucky shrugs, crossing his metal arm over the real own. Steve can feel the wires in the shoulder working as he does so. “No hostility here. I, on the other hand, am sensing some serious hypocrisy on your end.”

Steve raises his eyebrows high on his forehead. “What? How?”

Bucky flings his hands in the air, his hair falling into what Steve now notices is a very red face. “The kid literally said it. You know how many times I told you not to enlist? How I didn't want you to get hurt, because knowing you, and your situations, you would have, but you just kept. Trying. To enlist? Remember that?”

Steve’s face softens, and cautiously, he reaches out to cup Bucky’s cheek, who thankfully leans into the touch. “I know, Buck. I'm sorry. I was young, and stupid-”

“And this kid is young and smart. See where the line is drawn?”

Steve sighs, looking down as he shuffles his feet.

“Fix it,” Bucky warns him, backing away down the hallway. “Cause the kid, who has the same heart as you, didn't deserve what you gave him. Especially when we both know he's more capable than you were when you started out.”  
***  
There's nothing a good night’s sleep can't fix- even a tearful mental breakdown. And on the bright side, it turns out that said breakdown was so exhausting, that it warded off all the nightmares.

Maybe Peter should make breakdowns a regular occurance.

He stretches up against the headboard, feeling every joint in his back crack as he got his body situated. Despite how genuinely exhausting the last few weeks have been, he feels decently rested- probably the best he's felt since waking up (it's sort of weird to call it waking up. It's not really like coming back from the dead is the same thing as waking up from a little cat nap).

Peter remembers all of the events from last night- from the Avengers, to Captain America, to Mr. Stark and him on his room as he sobbed. And even though he doesn't want to deal with the mess- and even though he's a little disappointed that he woke up to Mr. Stark gone- Peter stumbles out of bed and begins to try to make himself presentable. Making a fool out of himself two days in a row isn't exactly in his agenda (although, admittedly, probably unavoidable).

Peter should really stay out of this hallway- he keeps running into people that he's sort of scared of, and being alone in a hallway with them is that last place he should be. No witnesses.

So naturally, his eyes widen just a little bit of fear as Captain America rounds the corner at the other end of the hall. Peter resists the urge to turn around and run in the opposite direction, wondering if he can just duck into the next open and pretend it's his own. No way Captain America would actively seek him out, right?

Alas, no dice.

Captain America’s eyes fall on Peter before he has any time to act, and the man lifts his hand in greeting as he calls out, “Peter! Hey.”

Peter just keeps walking at his same pace, meeting Mr. Rogers halfway. “Hi…” he says carefully, small, meekly.

“Listen,” Captain America sighs, awkwardly running his hand along is elbow, and it's admittedly super strange to see such an icon behave so rigidly. “I didn't- I think you took what I was saying last night the wrong way. It wasn't that I don't think you're capable- hell, I know you are. I've watched you fight, I've seen videos, I've heard stories. You're the real deal. I just got… worried. That happens sometimes, especially with all that's happened the past couple of years. And I think I took that out on you.”

Peter shrugs, shuffling his feet. “‘S okay.”

Captain sighs again, running a hand down his face. He's not looking at Peter as he voices, “Honestly? I think I was just jealous.”

Peter’s eyes pop out of his head. “Why would you possible be jealous of me?”

Mr. Rogers gives him a sad smile. “Kid, when I first started trying to save the world, I was a puny little shrimp who had asthma attacks twice a day. Not exactly the super hero I wanted to be. I would never been able to join a group like this at your age- hell, I got rejected from the army five times, and only eventually got in on a technicality. And yet here you are, so young, but…” Once more, Captain America sighs with a resigned nod. “But so ready.”

Peter is touched by the compliment, he really is, but he's sort of too caught up in another segment of the comment to really enjoy it. “Mr. Rogers, sir, with all due respect, you didn't know me a few years ago. Before I got these powers, I was the biggest, weakest loser imaginable. Seriously, I don't think I could have lifted fifteen pounds. These powers were handed to me when I was fifteen. Up until then, I was completely, achingly normal. Less than normal. I rolled my ankle every time I tried to run."

Mr. Rogers smiles a little bit. “I guess we're sort of the same in that way.”

Peter can't help but grin back at the man, even though the mere suggestion that he could be at all similar to Captain America is ludacris. “I guess so.”

“From what Tony told us,” Captain America goes on, “it seems like you can handle yourself just fine. And I wouldn't mind someone else being with us that's a little like me.” His lip curves up, and he can see clearly where Tony's affection for the boy comes from. He's infectious, and any apprehension clouding his opinion from earlier is quite gone by now. “Welcome to the team.”

Peter nodded, trying not to be too embarrassed from freaking out the day before. He knows he couldn't controlled it. Mostly, his cheeks are burning because Captain America just welcomed him to the team, and he doesn't care about all the shit that's been going on lately, because that's freaking awesome. “Thank you, Mr. Captain America, sir.”

The man just smiles, clapping him on the shoulder. “Call me Steve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much your your lovely comments and kudos! I thrive off them, and I really understand why a lot of people say they write faster with more comments. It's v encouraging :)


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter starts to find his place with the Avengers, and Tony confesses to Natasha the real story of what happened on Titan.

There's a knock on Peter's door. He's not overly shocked by the sound- he expects to open it to see Tony, probably checking in on him once more. But nothing could have prepared Peter to see Bucky Barnes, leaning casually against the doorframe with his hands shoved in his pockets.

 

Peter reels back in surprise, gripping the edge of the door to keep him steady. “Oh. Oh, hey man.”

 

“Hey,” Bucky says comfortable, standing up straight now to peer past Peter and into the room. “Can I come in?”

 

Peter gulps. He shouldn't be this nervous, but he is. “Um, yeah, sure.” He steps back to let the super soldier in.

 

Bucky looks around, observing his surroundings. He looks at the empty desk, the clear white walls, the pristine floor. He comfortable falls onto Peter’s bed, leaning back onto his hands. “You need to decorate a bit in here, dude. You know, since we’re all gonna be here for a while.”

 

Peter shivers, not loving the idea of making the compound his home. Of trying to duplicate his room at home. Of acting like living here could ever possibly be normal. “I don't have much to decorate it with.”

 

"You don't get out much, do ya, kid?"

 

Peter rolls his eyes. "How did you know?"

 

Bucky chuckles, settling back on the bed and tucking his arms behind his head. Peter awkwardly sinks into the desk chair, using Bucky’s distraction to admire that metal arm. It shines in the fluorescent light, ribbed and tough looking as it moves for Bucky’s every command.

 

“I like your arm,” Peter blurts out before he can stop himself.

 

Bucky opens one eye, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips. “Yeah?”

 

Peter clears his throat, trying to not be a total doofus for once in his life. “Yeah.” The only way to make himself not sound like an idiot would be to say as little as possible.

 

Bucky grins, rolling his shoulders so the mechanics in the metal arm whir quietly. “Steve thinks it's awesome that I’m part cyborg.”

 

“It is pretty awesome,” Peter agrees.

 

The smile melts off Bucky’s face, and suddenly he's not really here with Peter anymore. He’s somewhere else- somewhere far away, and somewhere much, much worse.

 

“It's can be cool,” Bucky finally voices quietly. “But sometimes it just serves as a reminder. Of everything that's happened, you know?”

 

Peter doesn't ask him to elaborate. He just softly responds. “Yeah. I get how you feel.” Peter's entire goddamn life is currently serving as an annoying reminder.

 

They fall silent for a few moments, each trapped in their own minds and their own past. The two Avengers can thwart pretty much anything, but their own minds is something that they'll never be able to escape.

 

"I wanted to apologize," Bucky suddenly says, not looking Peter into the eye.

 

Peter's eyes pop out of his head. "What could you possibly have to be sorry for? You've been, like, the nicest person since I've gotten here."

 

"Not for anything I've done," Bucky backtracks, pursing his lips. "But for... Steve."

 

Peter sits back, understanding. "You don't need to apologize. He talked to me yesterday, sorted it out. all good."

 

"I still wanted to apologize," Bucky continues. "He was sort of being a dick, and he's like my dog that I'm supposed to reign in, and I did a bad job of it until after you'd already left. So for that, I'm sorry."

 

Peter smiles at the genuine tone of his voice, looking down at his hands. "Don't worry about it, Buck. I appreciate what you did. Thank you."

 

Bucky appears relieved, and relaxes back into the comforter. All Peter can think is how he wouldn't mind hanging around the compound more if he got to be friends with Bucky.

 

The calm doesn't last long, though. Bucky seems to remember something at the last minute, and he jumps up from the bed. Peter jerks up in surprise at the movement, raising his eyebrows in question as he's pulled from his thoughts.

 

“I forgot. I actually came here for a reason.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. If you're gonna be an Avenger, you gotta train like the rest of us.” Bucky bumps Peter’s shoulder with a small smile. “No more slacking off, pal.”

 

Peter has the energy to snort, feeling a strange but comfortable affection for the long haired, formally scary but apparently quite kind super soldier.  
***  
Tony decides not to be the one to train with Peter. Instead, he merely stands by the sidelines and watches Bucky, Steve, and Rhodey work with him.

 

They go through a bunch of strength exercises first- they want to test where he's currently at so they know exactly where to start. It's quite fun to watch Steve’s face contort into pure shock as Peter easily lifts everything that is thrown at him.

 

In the end, the decide to focus on the mechanics of hand to hand combat. Even Tony admits that Peter won't be able to use that super strength if he doesn't have the right moves to go with it.

 

Tony spends most of the time alone, eyes trained in the kid, searching for any dangers or serious injuries. The three men go fairly easy on Peter this time around, just slowly going through the moves instead of actually fighting with him. Even so, Peter has broken out into a frustrated sweat by the time Tony feels another body settle beside him on the bench.

 

“How's it going?” Nat asks quietly, tilting her head as she watches Peter do a backflip away from Steve. Steve just gaps at the boy, and Tony covers his mouth as he snorts.

 

“Could be way worse,” Tony says finally. “They're all alive, so that's good.” That's all that matters.

 

Despite the fact that he said it as a joke, Natasha turns to face him, face serious and concerned, as if she could hear his thoughts. He wouldn't be surprised if she actually could, or if Tony was just not nearly as good as an actor as he thought.

 

“You were gone for a while in that mission,” she says carefully after a while, not meeting Tony’s eyes.

 

Tony doesn't need Nat to specify, and he just nods. He doesn't feel the need to make eye contact with her, either. “Yeah. It was quite the trip.”

 

“I'm guessing you didn't just have to journey to Queens to get him, huh?”

 

Tony merely shakes his head, knowing he had to talk about this eventually, and Nat in particular would be willing to pry the information from his cold, dead hands.

 

“He was with you,” Nat whispered. “When it all happened on Titan.”

 

Tony looked away, and if Nat happened to see some tears brimming in his eyes, well, she wasn't going to say anything. “He dissolved there with the guardians, so that's where we had to go to get them all back.”

 

Natasha can practically hear both of their hearts cleave in half at the words, and at her own realization. How had she not noticed before?

 

Natasha clearly doesn't know what to say, because Tony’s guilt and protectiveness over the boy suddenly makes a whole lot more sense. He had already let Peter down once- he wasn't about to do it again.

 

So Natasha says, “It's not your fault, you know. Him dying. It was Thanos. He would have dissolved just the same had he been on Earth instead of Titan.”

 

Tony shakes his head. “I- I don't know. The fact that everyone in that planet dissolved except me- the person Thanos promised not to kill- doesn't seem like a coincidence to me.”

 

“You can't blame yourself,” Natasha says firmly. “You'll only tear yourself apart, and that's the last thing Peter needs.”

 

Tony squeezes his eyes shut. “I tried to send him home. I really, really did. He's just… stubborn.”

 

“I know,” Natasha whispers. She doesn't mention that she probably knows where the boy got it from.

 

Tony sniffs harshly, looking away as if he just had a stuffy nose. “And as much as I defended him- as much as I want him to be an Avenger-” His words catch in his throats as he tried to tell Nat the trust. It's not something the man is entirely used to. “I- I just…”

 

Tony turns to Nat, breaths shallow and frustrating (just like this whole goddamn situation). And at last, the words tumble out fast than he can stop them, out into the air where he cannot take them back. “I'm terrified that it's going to happen again, and that when it does, it's going to be for good.”

 

Tony’s never been much of a hugger- he doesn't see how it could be helpful or productive in any way. It feels nice when he hugs Pepper, but that's different. It doesn't cheer him up when it's sad. It's just body contact.

 

But right now, even as tears slip down his cheeks and his stomach aggressively flips in fear, when Nat wraps her arms around him and holds him tight, he acknowledges that his feeling is more productive than any words could ever be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Bucky so much and him and Peter deserve to find this amazing friendship. I've already written a ton of scenes of them together, and evolving, and helping each other, and I can't for you guys to read them ones I've written, you know, everything else.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter remembers that he has a life outside of Spider-Man, and despite the laughter he eventually shares with his friends, he still had to deal with the repercussions.

Peter’s been so distracted and caught up in his own mind, that he actually managed to forget that he has real friends outside of this compound- ones that, right now, probably think he's dead.

 

Peter collapses onto his bed, pulling out the phone Tony had given him in replacement for the old one that he obviously no longer has access to. He props it against a pile of pillows, pulling up the holographic image as he facetimes Ned. Perhaps this is a bit bold, since Peter will be able to tolerate Ned’s yelling if it's not face to face, but he also has the overwhelming need to see his best friend. A need that makes all other fear and guilt completely irrelevant.

 

The phone rings for an agonizing seven seconds, and Peter drums his fingers anxiously against his crossed legs as he waits for an answer.

 

At least, the word CONNECTED flashes across the screen, and Peter holds his breath as Ned appears.

 

“Who the HELL is-”

 

Peter had forgotten that this number wouldn't show up in Ned’s caller ID, so the fact that Ned answered is ever more of a miracle. Peter’s face turns sheepish as the confusion melts off of Ned, turning into pure shock.

 

“P-Peter…?” Ned trails off, voice thick and disbelieving.

 

Peter swallows. “Yeah, buddy. It's me.”

 

The look on Ned’s face is heartbreaking. “We… we all thought you were dead…”

 

Peter has the right mind to look ashamed. “I know. I- I was. I'm sort of stuck at the compound after… you know.”

 

Peter wasn't really expecting Ned to start crying, but he's not overly surprised by it either. Peter just sits there smiling sadly as his friend puts his face in his hands, trying to regain control over himself.

 

“You died?” he asks Peter, sniffling aggressively. “You were one of the ones that disintegrated?”

 

Peter nods stiffly.

 

“Oh, God,” Ned cries, crumbling all over again.

 

But before Peter can say anything, it's his turn to be shocked as this time a female voice calls out from across the room, the door slamming closed behind her as she comes in. “Ned, what are you blubbering about now? Is it another cat video?”

 

Ned’s head whips up, and a shock is sent through Peter at the sound of that familiar voice.

 

“MJ?” he whispers.

 

She steps into the frame, and her face remains exactly the same- frozen- as she takes in Peter’s form in the screen. For a moment, she just stares at him, face entirely neutral as she gathers her thoughts and composure.

 

She's always cool around Peter. She doesn't plan on stopping now.

 

But when you're seeing your friend that you thought was dead for the first time in months, it's pretty easy to snap.

 

“You son of a bitch,” she hisses, shoving her face into the camera. Her calm facade rapidly snaps into fury as her face reddens and her eyes narrow to slits. “Where the HELL have you been?”

 

Peter rubs his neck, deciding to use the guilt trip to gain forgiveness- at least for now. “Well, dead at first, but right now I'm at the compound. Iron Man is making us stay here to recover or whatever.”

 

But MJ had stopped listening. Both of his friends’ minds had turned to static at the sound of “dead,” because even though Peter is back now, their worst fear had actually been realized at one point.

 

Peter had died, MJ and Ned both come to terms with at the same time. And they had not been there for him.

 

Silence rings around the three friends, everyone unsure of what to say and where to go from here. After all, what can you say after a slap in the face like this? Peter probably deserves a slap in the face.

 

At last, MJ voices the fateful question.

 

“What happened?”

 

And for the first time since he came back to life, Peter voluntarily launches into the whole story.  
***  
The three teens don't dwell on the past for too long- in no time, they're too giddy by each other’s company that they pretty much forget that merely two hours ago, Ned and MJ had thought Peter was gone for good.

 

"Peter, why is it that you hate me?" MJ muses. She's lying back on Ned’s bed, barely in the frame as she twirls her frizzy hair around her finger tips. But it doesn't go unnoticed to Peter that she doesn't take her eyes off of his face on the IPad, and neither does Ned. He wonders intently how much the two had been hanging out lately, trying to mourn what they thought was the permanent loss of a friend.

 

"Because you're verbally abusive?"

 

"Well, I don't think that's fair."

 

“Listen,” Peter laughs, hoisting himself up onto his elbows. “If you all of a sudden want to be nice to the dead guy, that's all you. Doesn't change your undeniable distant and vindictive personality.”

 

And god bless his friends, neither of them drop their voices, or give him a pitiful look at the mention of trauma. They just laugh and try to throw popcorn through the camera.

 

If nothing else, this is what he missed about hanging out with other kids from his generation. Sometimes not everything needs to be taken so seriously, and something is only serious if people react that way.

 

So, Peter laughs, too.

 

He asks what the two of them had been up to while he was gone- his school was going, how the team was doing, stuff like that.

 

“We’re planning in doing a wicked senior prank within the next couple of weeks,” MJ informs him through a mouthful of chips. “We don't actually know what it is yet, but we know it's gonna happen, and we know it's gonna be wicked.”

 

“Two necessities,” Peter nods in agreement.

 

“Maybe you'll be back to help us with it?” Ned suggests hopefully.

 

Peter snorts. “Even if I am, do you really see me helping with a prank?”

 

MJ pouts- seriously, Peter had never seen the girl pout, but she's definitely doing it now. “Come on. Why do you have to be so lame all the time?”

 

"Yeah well, I don't enjoy getting yelled at by the principal, so I'll just keep minding my own business."

 

"Hey now." MJ waffles her finger at Peter. "I wasn't yelled at. I was sternly talked down to."

 

"No, you were sternly told that you might be expelled."

 

"But I wasn't expelled," MJ grins, spreading her arms. "And isn't that all that matters?"

 

"Also," Ned puts in. "You can no longer say that you mind your own business. What with the whole 'crashing the Aline's space party' thing you had going on there."

 

Peter's eyes darken, because can anyone just go one freaking day without talking about the past? Can anybody even live anymore?

 

And yeah, maybe him making a joke about it makes him a hypocrite, but at least he can prepare himself when he's going to bring it up. Whenever someone else does it, it manages to knock the wind out of him and send him back worse twelve or so steps. Who could ever manage to recover like that?

 

Peter coughs. "Ha, yeah. Listen, I gotta go. Lots of stuff going on here."

 

"But-" Ned starts to object.

 

Only MJ seems to notice what exactly had set him off, and she nods as Peter wonders how it happened that neither of them died when Thanos snapped his fingers. Perhaps he kept around the good ones.

 

"Alright, Peter," she says softly, nudging Ned to effectively shut him up. "Maybe call us tomorrow?"

 

Peter nods rigidly. "Yeah. Yeah, sure."

 

The line goes dead.  
***  
It looks like Peter’s been alone for hours.

 

Tony had come by for a visit a while back, just to try and see that he's still settling in okay, but had pulled up short when he heard more voices coming from the crack beneath the door. Narrowing his eyes, he pressed his ear against the door to try and listen more closely.

 

No, it definitely wasn't any of the Avengers in there with the boy, if anybody else living in the compound. It was only when he noticed that the two extra voices were buffered that he realized he must have been on the phone with his friends.

 

That realization alone was a bough to make Tony freeze and gap for seven minutes.

 

But even more so, that wasn't just Peter in there- it wasn't the Peter he had abandoned in Titan, or the one he had gotten back, either. That was Peter laughing. The sound was loud, boastful, and overbearing, completely unrestrained and unbothered.

 

Tony had just smiled, wider and truer than he had in months. The others had been right when they said the boy was contagious, and even that simple laughter was enough to put a little extra pep in his step for the rest of the day.

 

But it doesn't last. Nothing does.

 

When Tony stops by next, his knock is greeted with nothing but silence. Lucky for him, he sort of owns this building, so he just puts the pin in and waltzes in, but let it be known that he doesn't feel good about it.

 

The scene is familiar- Peter is not having a panic attack. To have a panic attack, you need to feel something. You need to feel that panic. But from what Tony can gather from Petee’s vacant gaze and limo limbs, at the moment, the boy isn't feeling anything at all.

 

Tony doesn't ask what's wrong. He doesn't ask what happened, or if it had something to do with the friends he had been so freely laughing with not too long ago.

 

All he says is simply, “Do you want to talk?” It's the most genuine thing he can think of.

 

Since greets him, and Tony waits for a response.

 

And Peter says it politely, when he finally speaks. He says it calmly. In a way that most people wouldn't, but this is Peter, and the boy would say he was alright if he got hit by a bus. Hell, he'd claim that it's just a little scratch if he died.

 

Or got brought back to life. No big deal, he would claim.

 

Even though it is.

 

"I don't want to talk at all right now."

 

So they sit in silence. And considering the circumstances, after a while, Peter feels pretty content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this chapter! I knew I needed to throw Ned and MJ in there eventually. Peter's call with May sort of went without saying, but this one just seemed a little more important. Let me know what you think!


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter finally talks to someone about what exactly he went through when he was disintegrating- but only to learn that his fears were exactly true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! A new update for you. Sorry it's just a tad shorter, I started my new full time summer job today (ugh) and that was a bit restricting. But once I'm adjusted to my new schedule, everything will be back to normal.  
> ALSO. Since clearly all of you love to read, I thought to guys might want to know that I run an Etsy shop! I sell various bookmarks that are all reader- based, and I think you guys might like them! This is the link to the shop; https://www.etsy.com/shop/ReadMoreBooks14  
> My shop is called ReadMoreBooks14
> 
> Let me know what you think about both the bookmarks and this chapter!  
> Love you all  
> Xoxo

Steve is sleeping on Bucky.

 

Despite the odd position, Bucky cranes his neck to gaze down at his partner, smiling lovingly as Steve let's out small snores with each breath. His eyelashes flutter against his tanned cheeks, and his arms are crossed lightly across his broad chest, looking more comfortable than he's appeared in months.

 

It's moments like these that remind Bucky of pre-serum Steve. When he had been soft, and vulnerable, and set still picking a fight in every other alley.

 

Bucky audibly sighs as he sinks even deeper into the soft cushions, savoring this moment more than ever since he came back to life. When he had once believed he would never see Steve again. Bucky nuzzles closer, and it somehow feels like little explosions are going off within his arm where the two men make contact, which is weird, considering Bucky's arm is made of metal.

 

He's so dazed and happy that at first, he doesn't notice Peter when he comes in. The boy had crept in so quietly, he hadn't made a single noise to bring his presence to the pair of super soldiers’ attention.

 

Bucky only jerks his head up in mild surprise when Peter voices his name. Hell, even the word is nearly inaudible.

 

"Bucky," Peter whispers, eyes darting over to Steve, as if afraid to wake him. He shuffles from foot to foot, not being able to decide which is stronger, or which one he wants to burden.

 

"Hmm?" Bucky hums contentedly, relaxing back into his boyfriend. Perhaps it's because he knows he's going to have to go in the opposite direction in a moment.

 

Peter hesitates- probably because of Steve, the poor boy- before plunging forward, hands shoved into his pockets. "Can I... Can I talk to you?"

 

And even though Bucky doesn't want to leave Steve- to leave this position, which has been so rare these past few months- Bucky knows that look on Peter's face all too well.

 

“Sure, Pete,” Bucky whispers back, slowly managing to dislodge himself from Steve without waking him. When Bucky finally stands up with a smooth flourish, Steve crashes down into the couch, face pressed into a pile of pillows. His mouth contorts into a weird O shape that gets smothered into more of an oval. Bucky takes a moment to smile fondly before following Peter back to his room.

 

“Alright, kid,” Bucky says, shutting the door behind him. He's still surprised by just how comfortable he is with simply falling onto a near stranger’s bed- he was just as shocked when he did it the first time. But Bucky sees where Tony is coming from- the kid manages to just draw you in. Even a closed off, formerly mind controlled super soldier.

 

Bucky watches as Peter continues to fidget and avoid Bucky’s eye contact, playing with some sort of gadget that had been testing in his desk. When Peter doesn't try to initiate the conversation, Bucky prompts gently, “What’s going on?”

 

But Peter still doesn't answer. He just clenches and unclenches his fists, his back muscles tense beneath the worn T-shirt he wears. He leans against the desk, breathing heavily, as if resisting the urge to vomit. Or panic. Or collapse.

 

Perhaps he really is.

 

So Bucky stands up. And the man isn't much for contact, but he doesn't hesitate to approach and rest a hand into the kid’s shoulder.

 

“Peter,” he whispers, as delicately as possible. He normally wouldn't be the most comforting person, but something about Peter brings out some sort of older brother instinct. Something he used to have much more often before HYDRA.

 

"Did you... feel it?" Peter chokes out, looking down at his hands. They're wringing together so tightly that the knuckles are turning white, and his nails look like they might take paths across the sensitive skin. "When it happened?"

 

Bucky doesn't need to ask what Peter is talking about- I think it's all anyone has been thinking about. Bucky sighs, letting his hand drop to his side as he lowers himself to the ground in front of Peter. "I knew I was gone- that I had left earth, and that maybe my soul had left me, too. But other than that, I guess I just sort of... disappeared."

 

Peter’s reaction doesn't sneak past him- Bucky doesn't miss how the boy's muscles tighten even more, and how every square inch of him stiffens. Bucky had known, even as he told the truth, that he wasn't giving the answer that Peter wanted.

 

“Peter,” Bucky says slowly. “Did you-?”

 

But Peter just sniffs, shaking his head rapidly and frantically. “You know, it just doesn't even matter. It doesn't-”

 

Bucky scrambles to his feet, quickly placing his hands in both of Peter’s shoulders before the boy can run away. “Peter. Did you feel yourself disintegrating?”

 

And Bucky never imagined himself not freezing if s seen teen year old boy started sobbing in his arms, but as soon as Peter collapses, Bucky’s arms encircle him, pulling him into a tight, comforting embrace. And Peter must not hate it, because he reciprocates the hug, crying freely into Bucky’s thankfully not white, but black shirt.

 

“It's okay,” Bucky soothes him, running his scarred but hopefully still comforting hands along the boy’s back. “It's okay. I know. It’s okay.”

 

“Why… why… just…. me…” Peter hiccups, burying his face even deeper into Bucky’s shoulder so that the words come out muffles.

 

"I think you're reading too much into it," Bucky tells him honestly. He's trying his best here, but he's not going to sugarcoat it.

 

"Sorry that I'm a multi dimensional analyzer." Peter says it as a joke, but the sons interwoven between each word sort of gives him away.

 

“I'm serious,” Bucky goes on, plowing straight over the teenager’s stubbornness. “It was probably just your spidey senses acting up and enhancing everything because they knew something was wrong. It has nothing to do with… you, or what you did. It's not what you did or didn't deserve. Good and bad things come with super cool powers.”

 

Because Bucky knew what this was about- it wasn't just the fact that Peter felt himself disintegrating, and the fact that that probably sucked. It was all about why he had felt it. And Bucky can just imagine how many times Peter has replayed his life in his head, wondering why he had to go through that and nobody else did. Wondering what the hell he did to deserve it.

 

Bucky pulls away, replacing his hands in Peter’s shoulders so that they’re level with each other. "It's really important to recognize your significance in this world,” Bucky says, his own eyes piercing Peter’s as he tries to will all his feelings and genuinity into the gaze. “It really is. But it's become just as important to recognize your insignificance as well.”

 

And Peter manages to nod, even though Bucky isn't at all convinced that he had gotten through (despite the fact that his advice had definitely been awesome).

 

After a while if acting normal and just hanging out, Bucky forces himself to leave the kid alone. Bucky knows more than anyone that Peter has to grieve the loss of himself before he does anything else.

 

We're all just shouting into the darkness.

 

Nothing comes back.

 

 


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter hangs out with Natasha and Tony, before their brief reprieve is interrupted by some unexpected news, and an unexpected visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments! A special shoutout to MARVELGIRL who gave me the feedback that gave me the ideas for where to go with these incoming chapters. This chapter is really just an introduction for what's to come!! So if you guys want something, please comment!! I promise I will listen!!  
> Thanks guys  
> Xoxo

"You alright, kid?"

 

Peter jerks up from where he had been tinkering with some of the tools in Mr. Stark's lab, only being startled out of his daze by the sharp tap Mr. Stark jabs into his shoulder.

 

Peter loses a breath, leaning against his work table in relief. “Oh. Oh, yeah, fine. How long have you been here?”

 

Mr. Stark shrugs, picking up Peter's work to examine it. He's acting strangely nonchalant. “Twenty minutes or so.”

 

Peter’s eyes bug out of his head as his mouth falls open. “Geez, Mr. Stark. Why didn't you say something?”

 

"Well, I called your name four times, and when that didn't work..."

 

Peter shuffles his feet sheepishly.

 

"Breakfast?" Mr. Stark offers at last, voice quieter than it had been before.

 

Peter furrows his eyebrows. “Break-”

 

Shit. Had he really been down here all night?

 

Peter had woken up at one o'clock in the morning. And he hadn't been jolted awake by nightmares of aliens, or spaceships, or the feeling of his internal organs disintegrating into nothing at all. No, the dream had actually been quite ordinary.

 

Peter had been out to dinner with the Avengers (which was weird in and of itself, considering how they order take out more often than not.

 

It had been going well- filled with laughter and banter and a healthy amount of love. But Peter couldn't help the weight that set over his chest. He didn't know what he was panicking over. He just knew he was panicking, and that he was panicking bad.

 

There was only one thing for dream Peter to do- he ran. He didn't like the idea of all of his idols seeing him like this- weak- so he ran. But there had been a fence right outside the entrance- way too close to be normal- and there had been nowhere to go.

 

Nowhere.

 

What else is new?

 

Peter clutched at the fence, trying to break through, but his oxygen deprived brain couldn't figure out how to climb, or tear, or break. And so Peter had just sunken to his knees, curled into a small ball, waiting for some sort of end- whether it was the end of the panic attack, or the end of it all, he didn't really care at that moment.

 

He woke up before his body could shut down entirely.

 

Peter's been having panic attacks. He's been having many, many panic attacks. But that feeling of not being able to breathe had never intruded into his dreams. Hell, sleeping had once been the only way to avoid it.

 

Peter doesn't like the idea of losing his brief reprieve, or living with the persistent fear of falling back asleep that he's been putting up with all night.

 

But Peter doesn't say this- he doesn't tell Mr. Stark any of this. He just swallows, nods, and follows Mr. Stark toward the kitchen.

 

“He's awake!” Natasha greets them with a warm smile (Peter doesn't mention that he's been awake for s long while now). She's currently the only one in the kitchen, eating some scrambled eggs. “Breakfast, Peter? What can I get my favorite Avenger?”

 

Mr. Stark briefly looks offended.

 

Peter hops up onto one of the stools across from Nat, so happy to see her that he nearly forgets about the last nine hours. “Morning. Can I have a bagel?”

 

“No,” Mr. Stark cuts in. “Bagels suck. Eat like a man.”

 

Peter’s mouth falls open. “Uh, okay. Eggs?”

 

 

Mr. Stark cracks a smile, clapping the kid on his back as Natasha shakes her head, already putting the plain cinnamon bagel (this wasn't her first rodeo) into the toaster. “Don't be so wobbly, Pete. I was just being contrarian for the sake of being contrarian.”

 

“You’re favorite pastime, of course,” Nat rolls her eyes.

 

The bagel pops out of the toaster, and Nat looks over her shoulder at Peter to voice, “Butter or cream cheese?”

 

“Cream cheese.”

 

“Smart man.”

 

Natasha moves to scoop up some of the cream cheese with a butter knife, but Mr. Stark suddenly goes rigid- stiff as a board, seemingly for no reason. Peter might not have even noticed had Nat not jerked her head up with the question, “Stark? What's going on?”

 

He doesn't say anything, but presses his finger to his ear, where Peter assumes there must be an earpiece that he's listening to. Mr. Stark squints his eyes, trying to concentrate to hear the message more clearly, before those eyes contrastingly go wider than ever.

 

Bad news, Peter internally panics. Mr. Stark just got bad news.

 

“Tony,” Natasha says cautiously, taking a few steps closer. “What is it?”

 

But Mr. Stark is backing away, nodding at whatever the person on the other line is telling him. He holds his hands up, this time talking to Nat and Peter. “I have to go. Stay here, you hear me? Stay. Here.”

 

And then he's gone.

 

Natasha offers to take Peter out to eat once she had her wits about her (she had dropped the bagel on shock when Mr. Stark ran out). But Peter internally shivers, and requests that they just stay in.  
***  
The concept of flying has always fascinated Peter, and it hits him right in the face as he waits at the compound for Mr. Stark, watching through the window as he shoots through the air in that Iron suit of his. The action is straight and rigid and restrained- not exactly what anyone could call free- but Peter has always wondered what it was like to be up in the sky. Mr. Stark may be restrained by iron or whatever, but he's not restrained by the earth. He's not restrained by gravity.

 

It's so simply for him. A few jets, some fire power, and up he goes.

 

It's funny. Nobody can get in the air without some sort of outside force assisting them. It's physically impossible. But then again, Peter didn't need a shovel in order to dig himself in so deep that he almost couldn't breathe, couldn't see the light, couldn't find a way out.

 

It's all metaphorical bullshit, but it's sort of calming in a way, because who says he needs wings to fly?

 

The thought puts a smile on his face as Mr. Stark gently lands in the platform, and he grins as we waits for the man. Iron Man just stalks slowly toward the exit, as if in a sort of daze, marching and letting his heavy metal feet clang loudly across the pavement.

 

“Where have you been?” Peter asks eagerly, feeling slightly idiotic but not really caring. “Where did you go? Anything to report? Anything cool?”

 

You'd think, as Spider-Man, that Peter would be over getting this excited about this type of stuff.

 

Nope.

 

The fire of enthusiasm within Peter is quickly snuffed out as Mr. Stark steps out of his suit, revealing his angry face and his ripped clothes. What looks like ash- a shiver snakes down Peter’s spine, but he does a fairly good job of ignoring it at the moment- is smeared across his face, darkening the planes and angles of Mr. Stark’s cheeks and jaws. His shirt is hanging in torn tatters, barely clinging to his shoulders, which leads Peter to believe that he only required the Iron Man suit for travel, and had spent his time at whatever destination he reached merely as Tony Stark.

 

And honestly, any normal person wouldn't mess with Tony Stark when he has his murder face on, but Peter isn't normal people.

 

Peter races after him, trying to keep up with his not-quite-running-but-definitely-walking-with-purpose pace, all the while trying to get his numerous questions answered.

 

Normally, Mr. Stark would either answer his questions, or otherwise just tell him to shut up for the time being. And if Mr. Stark did that, Peter would listen- he always does. But right now, Mr. Stark merely plows forward through the hallways, eyes set dead ahead, quite possibly not even acknowledging Peter’s presence.

 

What the hell could have possibly happened?

 

After a few minutes, Peter eventually pipes down, settling for merely internally fuming as he follows Mr. Stark toward what, after a while, Peter figures out must be the common area.

 

Where they find pretty much everyone you'd expect- not a single Avenger is missing now that Mr. Stark and Peter have finally made an appearance. From what it looks like, everyone appears to be waiting, so Peter infers pretty quickly that Mr. Stark must have somehow summoned them though the iron suit. Peter lingers in the doorway, leaning against the frame as he wonders what i the world is going on. By the looks of confusion of the rests’ faces, it would seem that everyone else is in pretty much the same level.

 

Steve- whose eyebrows seem to perpetually be raised high into his hairline- gives Tony a look that practically screams “Just get to the point, will ya, drama queen?”

 

But he voices aloud, “Alright, Tony. What's the big emergency?”

 

Mr. Stark just scowls, sitting down in the couch and crossing his arms, giving Peter the impression that they're all going to be there for a while. And as he does so, he turns his back completely on Steve, giving his attention, instead, to Thor.

 

Even the God looks surprised, and slightly nervous, to think that he might be the root of whatever this problem is.

 

But it's not Thor, as it turns out. Well. Not technically, at least.

 

Tony’s frown deepens as he gestures to his banged up state. “You're brother has decided to pay us a visit. As you can probably tell, the conversation wasn't all that productive.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How many times can our Loki come back to life? Can the Avengers- especially Thor- stand to be believe it's possible that it's happened again?

You could hear a pin drop on this goddamn room, it's so quiet. 

In fact, Peter notes with the minimal amusement he can muster, the sound of Clint dropping his fork echoes against the walls like a freaking bomb- luminous, painful, and trance breaking. 

It's Banner, to Peter's relative surprise despite the doctor's circumstances, that explodes first. Not, of course, in his big green guy way, but in his polite, sort of awkward scientist way. 

"What?" he exclaims (or as close to exclaiming as he can get. He doesn't say anything else- Peter can't find any words, either. 

Mr. Stark collapses onto the couch, clearly exhausted from whatever had just gone down. He reclines as far back as he can, straining his neck so that his Adam's apple bobs extravagantly. Peter observes Mr. Stark- his torn clothes, the weathered look, the mixture of sadness and fear and conflict in his eyes.

But Peter is looking at him for long- he's distracted by the ever so tiny movement that occurs in his peripheral vision. And it's sort of strange, seeing such a huge dude move with such nimbleness, such restraint. Like a bottle poised to overflow. 

Slowly- so, so slowly- Thor rises from where he had perched on his tiny stool. He stands above everyone in the room, and his audience turns their heads to gaze at him in one movement. The wonder of what he will say- what he will do- looms over them all.

And even for a group of superheroes, the god is slightly terrifying. 

"What did you say?" Thor asks, ever so softly. Peter resists the urge to cringe. 

Mr. Stark merely looks annoyed, and overwhelming unbothered. But there's an underlying tick beneath him that perhaps only Peter has picked up on. "Thor, you know what I said. I said, your stinking rotten brother-"

"Adopted," Banner adds in, as if on instinct. 

"-decided he had the audacity to have more than one life. Hell, more than three. How many times has he miraculously come back to life now, Thor?"

But Thor is hardly listening. Fury looms deep in those eyes, no long locks to cover the veins popping in his neck a deep forehead this time around. His face is out and visible in all it's glory, and the Avengers cringe away from it.

All except for Mr. Stark. 

Thor takes a small step forward, the floorboards not even freakin beneath the expert feet. "You are cruel, to make such a joke."

Mr. Stark doesn't look sorry- if anything, comment merely aggravates him more. "Yeah, pal, I wish it was a joke-"

Thor erupts, bursting forward and jabbing a finger into Mr. Stark's chest. Only now does Iron Man decide to appear alarmed. 

“DON’T YOU DECEIVE ME,” Thor roars, voice  
thick with passion and feeling. “I SAW LOKI PERISH WITH MY OWN EYES- I FELT HIS HEARTBEAT CEASE. DO NOT DARE TO GIVE ME FALSE HOPE.”

Mr. Stark holds his hands out, for the first time taking caution. “I know. I know. But you know as well as I do that Loki is a trickster. There's no way for any of us to possibly know what he's capable of, or what he's ever planning or doing. That's his whole thing.”

Thor considers the words, and Peter doesn't miss the hope that bleeds into those eyes. It makes Peter's heart hurt. 

Thor grimaces. "If I were to find out that you are lying, Stark-"

"I'm not," Mr. Stark cuts him off boldly. "And I can prove it."

Mr. Stark pulls his sleeve up- not that it was necessary, there are so many holes in the thing- and looks at his watch. "Because he's on his way. Some agents should be bringing him in about, oh, thirty minutes or so."

He flicks his eyes up to survey the number of shocked expressions, and he just pulls his sleeve back down (unsuccessfully covering the wrist in rags). "I suggest you all ready yourselves."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this (painfully short) chapter has taken so long. I've been working and getting ready for college and everything has been crazy. But I promise we'll actually see Loki next chapter!!


End file.
